


Operation Zero

by Bryony (REBB)



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Mad Science
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-30 01:49:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10866510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/REBB/pseuds/Bryony
Summary: Everyone has their own AU war story; this one is mine.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning! This fic is unfinished - and realistically, it's likely to stay that way. It's a bit old now and showing its age, but despite that, I'm rather fond of parts of it, so I'd like to share what there is (I'm working my way through my back catalogue uploading to AO3 haha). It was spawned from a very cinematic dream I once had.

The collision was unavoidable. Duo was checking behind him to make sure no one was on his tail at the precise moment the girl came staggering out of the alleyway into his path. Neither had their focus forward, and before Duo knew it he was spinning around for a fight only to find himself locking eyes with a girl sprawled on the ground. She had her arms wrapped protectively around her belly in the unmistakable attitude of pregnancy, although as yet the extra weight was still small.

Duo dropped his fists. "You okay?" he asked, reaching down to help her up.

She let him pull her to her feet and had her mouth open to answer when a sound in the distance distracted her attention. A siren. She turned back to him, face twisted with fear. "Please," she whispered urgently, "help me hide from them. They want my baby."

Duo looked her up and down, and knew she wouldn't get much farther on her own. The girl's wiry frame was strong, but she was trembling with fatigue and her face was pale underneath the red flush and sweat of her exertions. Clearly, she'd been running for a long time already. Besides which, Duo knew he would never turn away anyone begging shelter from the Alliance. It was not in him to say no. He nodded and took her by the elbow.

Tears of relief flooded her eyes but didn't spill, and they began to run. But after only a few steps the girl was lagging behind, favoring her right leg. "What's wrong?" Duo asked over his shoulder.

"Twisted my ankle when I fell," she gasped. "I'm okay."

Duo stopped up short. "Look, lady," he said, "I don't know what your deal is, but I can't afford to get caught helping you out. It's my ass on the line as much as yours, now. Get on my back, we'll be quicker that way."

She hesitated fractionally, then wrapped her arms around his shoulders and let him hoist her up into a piggyback. The wail of sirens was louder now, but still distant, coming from over by the base. Duo started running again, up the hill back towards his home. The slight, firm bulge of the girl's belly pressed into his back, not enough to be awkward, but a reminder of what the girl had said the Alliance were really after. He hadn't a clue what the sick fuckers could want with a baby, let alone one that hadn't even been born yet, but the rage that came from entertaining the possibilities spurred him on more quickly. He needed it -- the steep upward climb was sapping his energy, and Duo grimly thought it was a good thing he hadn't gotten very far on his way before running into this girl, otherwise he might not have been able to get them both back safely. It was few minutes before the hill finally crested, and Duo stopped to let the girl off, gesturing her towards the wrought-iron gates in front of them as he caught his breath.

"The monastery?" she asked, incredulous.

"Best place to hide," Duo replied, and hurried her inside.

The monastery was one of the oldest monuments in New Port City -- hell, in all of Cinq. Originally constructed well outside the city's perimeter, the monks there had once been totally self-sufficient; but over centuries of urbanization New Port City had swallowed the property, and the monastery now rested on the outskirts of New Port's historic commercial district. Until a few years ago, it had been one of Cinq's biggest tourist attractions. Now, though, Romefeller's immigration policy (strictly enforced by the Alliance) prevented most foreign visitors from ever stepping inside Federation territory. The gates still stood open to the public from dawn until dusk, but generally the only people to come and go were those who attended the religious services held in the abbey church.

The girl stared around her, something like wonder on her face. When she turned back to Duo her eyes were brighter; he could see the alert intelligence in them more clearly now that her panic had died down. "So the rumors are true," she guessed, causing Duo to smile in response -- a patient smile that he had used many times before.

"Miss, I don't know what you've heard," he replied. "All I can tell you is that there are good people here, who won't give you away to…whoever it is you're running from."

She nodded slowly, and then it was like the exchange had never happened. "I've never been in here before," she admitted, and her gaze returned to the monastery grounds. Although repaired and modernized several times over, the monastery was still primarily comprised of its original buildings, built out of ancient stone and clustered imposingly several meters away. The original perimeter wall had been lost a few centuries ago when much of the surrounding grounds had been sold, and the new one, an ornate construction of wrought-iron instead of stone, was much more visitor friendly, providing excellent views out over New Port City, down to the harbor itself and the sparkling ocean beyond. "It's beautiful." After some hesitation she added, "Thank you for bringing me here."

Duo grinned to put the girl at ease and shrugged. "No problem." Not yet, anyway. It might be, once Wufei and Quatre heard about it, but for now it was fine. "I'll bring you to the infirmary. You can get your ankle checked out, and I should tell the abbot that you're staying here."

"I won't be here long," she promised hastily. "I…need to get out. Of Cinq. And I don't want to get anyone in trouble." A long look passed between her and Duo. She didn't say any more, and he didn't press her to. There'd be time enough for that later. For now, there were more urgent things to do.

*

"Maxwell!"

Duo sighed and turned around. Wufei was storming across the courtyard towards him, Quatre in tow. "What’s up?" he asked, as if he didn't already know.

"Don't pull that on me, Maxwell. What were you thinking, bringing that girl here? Our security is thin enough already -- the Alliance doesn't trust these monks we're hiding under, and what the hell makes you think we can trust _her_?"

"Hey, give me a break, huh? The girl's _pregnant_! What was I supposed to do, leave her and her kid on the street to the mercy of some asshole soldier?"

Wufei sighed, but annoyance still marred his features and a retort was quick in coming. "While I understand your concern, rescuing stray girls is not what we are here to do," he said. "If she brings the Alliance down on us, think of how many others like her will suffer that we could have saved." He gritted his teeth and added, "Not to mention what could happen to her if we draw the Alliance here ourselves."

Duo scowled and looked to Quatre for support. Quatre's sincere blue eyes met his, and he smiled ruefully. "Duo," he said, "I'm not concerned about whether or not we can trust this girl --" he interrupted himself to add, "I'm sure we can, Wufei -- but I _am_ worried about attracting Alliance attention. There were alarms this afternoon, Duo, they're looking for someone. And you missed your meeting with Trowa, thanks to this. He and Ahmed were worried when you didn't show."

"The fact is, this girl is a liability, and you shouldn't have brought her here," Wufei cut in, his voice somehow both impatient and regretful at the same time, a feat only he could pull off.

"I'm sorry, Duo, but it's true," Quatre echoed, just as another voice shouted Duo's name across the yard, and they turned to look. A middle-aged man with gray hairs peppering his otherwise chocolate-brown locks was coming towards them from the chapterhouse, two other men flanking him, these dressed in Alliance uniforms. Wufei clenched his teeth and raised his head defiantly but didn't say anything more. Quatre just stared politely at the ground.

"Father Maxwell," Duo greeted the abbot, and nodded to the soldiers, polite but cold. "What can I do for you?"

"Good afternoon, Duo," the Father said quietly, his calm demeanor undermined by the significant look he was leveling at the three boys. "These men are here looking for a girl; she is wanted by the Alliance for deserting in the line of duty. I told them that you would be the best person to question, as you go into town most often. After you're finished answering their questions they are going to search the monastery in case the young lady has sneaked in here to hide. I trust you will assist them to the best of your ability."

An easy grin slipped into place as Duo replied, "Yeah, Father, sure thing. I'll do whatever I can."

Father Maxwell returned his smile tightly before he turned to leave, his black priest's robes fluttering gently behind him. Quatre and Wufei took their leave as well. Duo stared wistfully after them for a second, wishing he was the one who got to turn his back on the situation. He trusted them to keep the girl safe, of course, but he knew he'd have to answer for it later on.

The soldier in the lead stepped forward and politely cleared his throat. Duo returned his attention to where it belonged and struggled not to smirk as Trowa took out a photograph and handed it to him. The face staring up at him was the one Duo expected to see, but the sight of the Alliance uniform the girl wore was enough to wipe all humor from him. "Do you know this girl?" Trowa asked calmly.

"Not _know_ , no," Duo replied. "I saw her this morning, though. Bumped into me on the street while I was on my way to the market. Looked like she was in a hurry to get somewhere. Who is she?"

"Her name is Hilde Schbeiker. She was a Private in the Allied forces until she deserted this morning. She's wanted for treason. Where was it you saw her?"

"Treason, huh? That's some crime." Duo shook his head.

"Just answer the question, huh? We haven't got all day," the other soldier cut in impatiently. Duo stared at him, then nodded down towards the monastery gates.

"Just down the hill. That intersection with three Christmas tree shops?"

"You sure about that?” the soldier sneered, glaring suspiciously.

"Yeah I'm sure! You calling me a liar, pal?"

"I didn't ask you for lip, smartass -"

"Private Fournier," Trowa cut in smoothly, "remember your place. Go radio headquarters and tell them we had a sighting in this sector. What time did you see her?"

"Round about eleven o'clock, I'd say," Duo replied, watching with pleasure as Fournier gave Trowa a sullen salute and, taking a walkie-talkie off his belt, stepped aside to follow his commander's orders. He added softly, "You better watch your back, Tro. That kid sure is."

A smile flickered across Trowa's lips and was gone. "I'm his superior. The only two things he's meant to do are respect me and resent me."

"Heh. Funny. Anything else you can tell me about that Schbeiker chick before the cadet comes back?"

"She's hiding here?" Trowa queried, and Duo nodded.

"Don't look too hard for her, or things could go downhill for us all real fast."

"I don't know much," Trowa said, keeping an eye on his cadet. "They want to prosecute her for treason. She got off base at approximately 0900 hours, and soldiers were sent to search for her at about the time she bumped into you. Whatever she did isn't being taken lightly: the higher-ups want to find her _very_ badly. A second soldier -- an officer -- is currently in custody under charge of treason for aiding Schbeiker's escape. Her trial is set for a few days from now. It's expected her sentence will be execution by firing squad."

"That's harsh," Duo muttered. "Isn't there anything you can do?"

Trowa peered at him blandly, like he was checking a piece of fruit for rot. "Why would I?" he finally asked. "There's no need to risk my cover for her."

Duo blinked and scowled. "Yeah," he said, "Right."

Fournier rejoined them just as Trowa said, "One last question, Brother Maxwell. In which direction was the fugitive heading?"

"Oh. Uh…" Duo squinted his eyes, thinking. "East. Southeast."

"Towards the port," Trowa noted to his subordinate, and nodded. "Thank you for your help. We'll conduct our search of the grounds and be on our way."

"Great. Yeah. Good luck and all." Duo offered a vague wave before he turned and stomped away. That girl was going to have some serious explaining to do when he got his hands on her.

*

The chapterhouse was his eventual destination, but in his reluctance to end up there, Duo took a roundabout route, walking slowly and stopping frequently. Eventually, he made his way upstairs to Father Maxwell’s office, where he knocked tentatively and entered only when he heard the abbot ask him to. Father Maxwell was seated behind his large mahogany desk and reading something on his computer, his small bifocals pushed low down on his nose. He looked up at Duo and smiled warmly, the smile that never failed to reassure. “Come in, Duo,” he said, “sit down. What’s on your mind?”

“Well, the girl,” Duo started, then stopped, suddenly and awkwardly. Surely Father Maxwell was the only man in the world who could do this to him, the only man he respected enough to make him _want_ to tell the truth. And so he suddenly wasn’t sure what to say.

The old priest smiled again. “She can stay as long as she wants,” he reassured. “Provided those young men don’t find her and she doesn’t actively engage in any plans against the Alliance while she is here, I have no reason to turn her away. The monastery is traditionally a place of sanctuary for those seeking to escape persecution; I don’t intend to break with that tradition now. It’s too important for us all. As you know.”

Duo swallowed hard around the lump in his throat and nodded. He knew all too well, it was true -- had done ever since coming here as a kid with his stolen goods, looking for someplace to hide from the cops. If Father Maxwell only knew what he and Quatre and Wufei were doing now, he’d have no choice but to turn them out. One day soon, Duo felt deep within his very bones, it would have to come to that. “Sorry,” he croaked.

The abbot sighed and leaned back in his chair, making the leather squeak. “You have a good heart, Duo,” he said earnestly, about to begin a familiar lecture. “I only wish you’d start coming to services -”

Another knock on the door interrupted them, opening immediately afterwards, before Father Maxwell had a chance to extend an invitation. The two Alliance soldiers stepped smartly inside. Duo offered them a somewhat sullen nod, but the abbot politely stood to greet them.

“We’ve completed our search of the grounds,” Trowa said. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

“I presume you found everything in order,” Father Maxwell replied, looking satisfied at Trowa’s nod. “Is there anything else?”

“That will be all for now.” Trowa looked admirably detached as he surveyed the priest’s office, his eyes lingering over the framed scripture quotations hanging on Father Maxwell’s wall.

Duo stood abruptly. “I’ll escort you to the exit,” he said. He wanted these men out of here, Trowa included. They had no cause to linger like a plague cloud, their military presence contaminating the clean air in this place. “See you later, Father.” He pushed past the two soldiers, the heavy thud of their boots assuring him that they followed. He didn’t look back at them until they reached the gate, then he watched them go with a grim, guilty pleasure.

That’s how Quatre found him, a few seconds later. Duo heard him approach, but neither one spoke until Quatre laid a hand on Duo’s shoulder. “Ahmed sent news from his meeting with Trowa this morning. We didn’t get a chance to fill you in earlier. It seems the Alliance has been taken in by Trowa; they’re impressed by him. Even Treize Khushrenada has taken an interest. Another promotion isn’t far off, we think, along with access to more classified materials. He may even get into the Specials.”

“That’s good,” Duo replied blandly, hiding behind a jaw-cracking yawn.

“Yes, it is,” Quatre replied, and his tone was not lost on Duo. “We don’t want to mess this up, Duo. This could be just the break we need to finally defeat the Alliance. We can’t afford uncalculated risks right now, you understand?”

“Whoa.” Duo spun around. “Excuse me. Can I just remind you who brought you here? Do you remember that? This isn’t just your fight, buddy; I was in this long before I ever heard your name. This is _my_ country. These are _my_ people. Remember that. You don’t like the way I operate, you can feel free to walk along, all right?”

Quatre frowned. “That’s not the way this works, Duo. We’ve got to stick together if we’re going to have a chance of victory.”

“Oh. Victory. Right.” Duo laughed. “Because that’s just around the corner, isn’t it?”

Quatre sighed and let the subject drop, somehow sensing that Duo had reached his limits for the day. “The girl is still hiding in the crypt if you want to bring her somewhere more comfortable. And maybe talk to her about her Alliance days.”

*

The crypt was dark and, except for the occasional _plink_ of water dripping, utterly silent. Duo flipped a switch, flooding the place with ugly fluorescent lights. “You can come out,” he said, and his voice echoed even though he wasn’t speaking loudly. “The soldiers are gone.”

She materialized out of the shadows and came to stand before him, waiting.

“So. Hilde, right? You didn’t tell me you were part of the Alliance.”

She didn't seem surprised by his knowledge, jutting her chin out in defiance. “It didn’t seem like a good idea. Would you have helped me if you’d known?” It was a rhetorical question; they both knew the answer was no. She heaved herself up to sit on a tomb, her seat just high enough above the ground to allow her feet to swing freely. “It seems to me that the less you know about me, the better it is for both of us. You can’t tell someone what you don’t know, and they in turn can’t hold it against you.”

“You’re sitting on a dead guy,” Duo pointed out, shuddering as Hilde carelessly ran her hand across the elaborately carved lid of the tomb.

“I guess he knows where to find me if he has a problem with it.” It was a flip remark, but one that she didn’t say flippantly. He crossed his arms and let his shoulder slump against the wall, glancing backwards to where Quatre was eavesdropping on their conversation at the top of the stairs. He needed to get down to business.

“So what’d you do?” he asked.

She met his eyes and didn’t look away. “If I tell you that, I can’t take away the knowledge later. There might be a time when you don’t want to know.”

“I want to know,” he said sternly. It would have been rude under any other circumstances but this, they both knew, was an interrogation.

“Well, maybe you wouldn’t mind explaining something to me in return,” she evaded, unwilling to give up what she owed him. “Pardon my saying so, but you don’t exactly look like a monk.”

Duo laughed. “It seems to _me_ ,” he said, cruelly imitating her earlier words, “that we could just sit around here playing games all night and neither of us come away any more enlightened, if we were so inclined. But I’m a straightforward kind of guy. So here’s how I see things. You’re on my turf. You’ve given me no reason to trust you, but I saved your ass anyway. I don't think expecting some kind of explanation is unreasonable: you owe me some answers, Miss. Sure, you know, if things were reversed, I’d be the one spilling my guts. But since they’re not, I suggest you start talking.”

Hilde’s gaze dropped down to her knees, and even from the stairs Duo could see her tension rise. “I get it. You have the advantage over me. But come on! You haven’t even told me your name! You want me to tell you my secrets? How do I know what use you’ll put them to? I told you, I don’t plan to stay here long. I don’t want to endanger you by luring the Alliance here. I just need to find a way out of Cinq, that’s _all_.”

Duo sighed. “Okay,” he said, knowing Wufei would kick his ass even as he began talking. “First of all, the name’s Duo. I know that isn’t going to help you trust me or anything, but I’ll tell you this: I may run and hide, but I never tell a lie. And I promise I’m not going to give away your secrets to anyone who doesn’t deserve to know. Second of all, I… _might_ …be able to find a way to get you across the border. But I need to know the reason why before I stick my neck out any further. The Alliance figures you were on your way to the port before running into yours truly, and you better believe they’re going to be on the watch.”

Hilde smiled grimly. “Oh, I believe it,” she said. “Knowing what I know, they’re gonna be desperate to stop me. That’s -” her face twisted, “- why I _have_ to succeed. I have to show the world what they’re doing.”

It was Duo’s turn to laugh again. “Kiddo, the world knows full well what the Alliance is doing. Trust me. They know, and they don’t give a rat’s ass about us so long as they don’t think they’re next in line to be conquered.”

“They don’t have a clue,” Hilde whispered fiercely. Then, abruptly changing the subject she asked, “Can you really get me out of here? I don’t care where to, just _anywhere_ away from here.”

“Like I said, I can’t guarantee anything,” Duo said, “but I’ve got some connections. If you’re willing to let me in on what it’s for.”

She stared at him long and hard, giving Duo the impression that he was some sort of experiment under observation. He refused to move a muscle, knowing that if he showed any weakness now, it would all be over. When she finally bowed her head, he knew he’d won. “All right,” she quietly caved. “If you really have to know, and if you swear you’ll get me out of here.”

“I swear I’ll do my best,” he said in earnest, sensing what this cost her, and sat down on the steps to listen.

Hilde drew her legs up closer to her, and draped an arm protectively across her stomach. Her brow was furrowed and she chewed her lower lip in thought. “What you need to know,” she finally said, “is this. The Alliance is about to fall.”

She paused, and Duo cut in, “Are you full of shit?”

“The Alliance is about to fall,” she repeated, pointedly ignoring his outburst, “to a secret society called OZ.”

“As in _The Wizard of_?” Duo, still skeptical, interrupted again.

“As in Operation Zero,” Hilde told him, her blue eyes dark as she glared at him. “OZ is an extremist faction hidden in the Alliance. I found out about them this morning. It’s why I ran away.”

Duo was startled by her tears. She had seemed strong enough up until this point. He sat frozen, torn by indecision over whether to go and comfort her or stay where he was and spare her the embarrassment of being coddled. “Hey,” he said, awkwardly standing up, “it’s going to be okay.”

“Sorry,” Hilde stuttered around her tears. “It’s the hormones. I’ll be okay in a sec.” She drew in a couple of deep, shuddery breaths and calmed herself down. “Sorry,” she said again.

Duo sat down again and shrugged. “No worries. You want a minute?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I just want to get this over with.” She sniffed, loudly, and Duo was suddenly struck by how young she was -- his age, or even younger. Not even twenty, yet, surely. “Have you ever heard of the Specials?”

Duo snorted. “Everybody has.”

“Then you know OZ. The Specials are their front. My boyfriend -- make that my _ex_ -boyfriend -- the one who knocked me up, he’s with them.” She sniffed again, looking up, around, anywhere but at Duo, as if that would help her keep it together. “I thought he wanted this kid, you know? That’s why I kept it. But now I think, I think that he was just giving them what _they_ wanted. I guess he didn’t really care about us at all.” She sort of tried to laugh, but it sounded more like she was crying again. “I’m sorry,” she apologized again, furiously rubbing at her eyes. “This all happened so fast. I haven’t even said any of this out loud before. And here I am…I’m hiding in a cave…and I don’t…I don’t even know what to do…”

Duo was going to just let her cry it out and then finish the story, but Quatre came down the stairs and took over, for which Duo was infinitely grateful. Quatre had the social polish to know just how to handle this sort of situation, and he started by offering Hilde a tissue and his elbow, and leading her out of the crypt. Duo followed, lagging just far enough behind that he didn’t have to lend a helping hand as Quatre brought Hilde to a guest room and then came back outside to meet him. He wore a very disturbed frown on his face, and Duo immediately demanded to know what else Hilde had told him.

“Let’s find Wufei first,” Quatre suggested, and the frown didn’t lift from his normally cheerful face.

Wufei was not difficult to find; he often chose to meditate in the church when it was not being used for services. Duo always found that strange, since Wufei had made it perfectly clear on several occasions that he had nothing other than a scholarly interest in Christianity, but sure enough, there he was, sitting quietly on the floor in the back, just beyond the narthex facing towards the altar. He looked up in annoyance at their approach, but Quatre was unapologetic. Sensing this, he got to his feet and demanded, “What is it?”

“I have another story for us to print,” Quatre replied, referring to the brand of intellectual warfare that he and Wufei had been waging against the Alliance for the past several months, illegally publishing and distributing inflammatory pamphlets about Alliance tyranny. Naturally, anyone caught with the offensive paper was subject to prosecution, but that didn’t stop every copy from disappearing off of the street corners each week and being smuggled into people’s homes. “It’s a big one.”

Wufei waited, as did Duo.

“We spoke to the girl; she was upset, but I’m fairly certain I have her story pieced together accurately. She ran away when she found out this morning that a breakaway faction within the Alliance was experimenting on her child. The officer that Trowa told us about, the one who’s being court marshaled, that’s who tipped her off.” Quatre sighed. “She’ll probably be executed. Anyway…” He laid out the rest of the story, no frills, and Duo listened with the same sense of disbelief he had felt when Hilde had been the one telling him. “…We ought to encourage Trowa to forge as many ties as he can to the Specials and Treize Khushrenada before they attempt their coup,” Quatre finished simply, with the impossible accepting calm he sometimes possessed that made Duo want to punch him.

Wufei was also sage. “Considering their meeting tomorrow that may not be too difficult,” he said. “My question is, how much of this story should we publish? Will too much information bring the Alliance back here? Their only confirmed interaction is between Duo and the girl, after all. We don’t want to cast suspicion on Trowa.”

Quatre cast his thoughtful eyes over to Duo. “I think the time for playing it safe is drawing to a close,” he said. “The world needs to know what we know to protect itself. Moreover, this information will throw Romefeller, the Alliance, _and_ OZ into an uproar; with any luck they’ll be both too destabilized and too focused on themselves to come looking for us or defend themselves against outside threats.” He hesitated then added, “If suspicion falls on Trowa, that might be a risk we have to take at this point.”

Wufei nodded, and Duo sat chewing his lip, still assimilating. Quatre’s eyes finally left him and turned back to Wufei. “Let’s go,” he said, and they left, leaving Duo alone in the dim church.

He turned his troubled eyes toward the altar, but could not bring himself to pray.


	2. Chapter 2

For Trowa, who was in charge of cleanup duty every time anti-Alliance propaganda appeared on the streets, and was, as a result, always on the lookout for the offensive papers, it was impossible to avoid being among the first to find them. This time when he read the commentary, his chest and gut clenched tight; it was a double effort to sound calm when he called in the alarm to headquarters. He gave the cleanup a higher code of urgency than usual and demanded that a superior officer come down to take a look.

Following his shift, the meeting he had been scheduled to have with General Khushrenada was postponed due to the General’s unexpected conference with the leader of the Alliance troops, General Septem. Trowa used his unexpected leave to return to his barracks, where he cleaned his gun and polished his boots. He then reported to the mess hall, where he was at last approached by Colonel Une, General Khushrenada’s assistant.

She stared down at him, cold brown eyes flashing behind her spectacles. “The General has asked to see you,” she said, and led him to Treize’s extravagant office. Trowa kept his breathing even and his posture relaxed, although he got the impression that Une wanted him to believe he was being led to his own execution. When they arrived, Une let him into the room and left, leaving him alone.

Treize entered a few moments later from another door. Trowa snapped to attention, was put at ease, and was then offered a seat. Treize sat down across from him on the other side of his desk. “I have had my eye on you for quite some time, Corporal,” he told Trowa, a small smile gracing his leonine features. “You have been doing exceptionally well.”

“Thank you, sir,” Trowa responded softly, still on his guard.

“If I may ask, why did you join the Alliance?” Treize queried, his tone unreadable.

“I thought I would be useful in advancing the Alliance’s objectives.”

Treize inclined his head in a slight nod, a gentle hum escaping his lips as the official atmosphere that had pervaded the room slipped suddenly away. “I must admit, I find it strange that military organizations such as ours tout terms like objectives so freely without encouraging individual goals. It becomes rather stifling…almost hive-like at times. Do you have any personal beliefs or goals that the Alliance is helping you fulfill?”

“I haven’t thought about it, sir.”

Treize sighed gently and leaned back in his chair. “I understand your reluctance to admit it, but as I said, Trowa, I’ve watched you, and I think you have. It’s all right; this is a personal conversation and completely off the record. Nothing you say here will ever be held against you.”

Trowa hesitated a mere moment before responding, “I’ve always wanted to be my best, sir.”

“Your best, or _the_ best?” Treize pressed, an amused smile crinkling his face.

“The best, sir,” Trowa gamely amended.

“What do you think of the state of the world, Trowa? Do you think the Alliance is making a difference?”

“Is this an interrogation, sir?”

Treize laughed, precisely the sort of cultured, rich laugh one would expect him to have just by looking at him. It sounded rehearsed. “No. Certainly not. Forgive me, I’m being too blunt, or not blunt enough, perhaps. This is not an interrogation, Trowa; it is, however, an interview. To determine whether you would be suited to join the Specials.” He pushed one of the pamphlets that Trowa had collected across the desk towards him. “This caused quite a stir this morning. Did you read it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What did you make of it?”

“Is it true, sir?”

“It is propaganda.” Which did not, Trowa noted, answer the question. “Naturally, General Septem also shared your concern for this article’s truth. We have, fortunately, resolved that question between us. One thing that is true, Trowa, is that the Specials is concerned with changing the world, whereas the Alliance is, in general, satisfied with the way things are.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you see what I mean now?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And?”

“To answer your question, no, sir, I’m not satisfied.”

Treize stood with a flourish and announced, “In that case, Corporal Barton, I have something to show you. You will, however, have to accompany me to the Madrid Specials base. I have a helicopter waiting.”

*

The ride was uneventful. Treize sat with his fingers steepled across his chest and his eyes closed, but was not asleep. Trowa sat across from him with Colonel Une by his side, her suspicious eyes roaming restlessly over the cabin and its occupants, trying to pick out any threat before it could materialize. Trowa spent the hour-and-a-half in the air quietly observing his superiors, trying to probe for weaknesses without being noticed. The noise from the rotors prevented conversation, which suited him just fine.

They landed with a delicate bump in the heart of the Madrid base. Treize exited the helicopter first and gallantly helped Une descend after him. The color rose in her cheeks; Trowa could see that she was torn between pleasure at her commander’s notice and unease at not serving him as she felt she ought.

Treize led the way into the officers’ quarters. Here he took out his clearance badge and summoned an elevator. “Only Specials personnel have access to this area, Corporal. You will need to have new identification issued to you before you can come again. I need not tell you that what you see here is top secret; it is, however, what every man and woman inducted into the Specials is working for, and therefore it is only right for all to witness. Lady, would you care to do the honors?”

They had reached the lowest level and were immediately confronted with another clearance point when the elevator doors slid open. Colonel Une stepped forward and placed her hand on the scanner in front of her then entered a personal access code which Trowa strained to see but could not quite make out from his position. There was an electronic whir as the computer accepted Une’s code and the door slid open, revealing a large, well equipped underground bunker. Two lines of soldiers stood at attention forming a human corridor down which Treize, Une, and Trowa passed.

Two men were waiting for them at the end of the line, one Trowa’s age or slightly younger, who stood out because of his lack of uniform. He wore instead tight fitting black shorts and a dark green, sweat-stained muscle tank. The other was taller, older, and in uniform, but equally noticeable for the peculiar silver helmet that concealed the upper half of his face.

Treize ordered the other soldiers back to their duties when they reached this pair. He then turned back around and said, “Corporal Barton, allow me to introduce to you Subjects 01 and 06. They are the first two successes of Operation Zero.”

Trowa nodded in greeting but did not notice any response in either 01 or 06.

Treize watched this unfold with approval then went on, “Perhaps you would like to experience firsthand precisely what Operation Zero and the Specials will accomplish for humanity.” Trowa acknowledged this with another nod and Treize stepped back. “You have shown a high level of expertise in hand-to-hand combat, Corporal. Attempt to disable Subject 01.”

The masked man introduced as Subject 06 stepped back, leaving Trowa to face the younger one. He shifted his weight into a fighting stance and eyed his sparring partner warily. 01 stood calmly, his arms down by his sides, his stance neutral. But his eyes darted rapidly from side to side as if he was speed-reading an invisible textbook suspended in the air between them. Trowa almost doubted whether the other boy could see him. He began to circle his quarry to test the theory, but 01 turned with him, still making no apparent preparations to either defend himself or attack. Trowa shifted into the zone where action preceded conscious thought and sprang forward, feinting to the right while twisting to the left to disable 01 from behind.

He blinked dust out of his eyes, which were pressed against the rough concrete floor. 01 was behind him, a knee digging into Trowa’s spine and hands gripping Trowa’s elbow and wrists in an unwavering, vice-like hold that was less than a centimeter from dislocating his left shoulder.

“Excellent,” Khushrenada’s voice rang out in the sudden silence that had descended once more over the bunker. “Well done.”

The weight holding Trowa down was suddenly gone. He stood up, gingerly flexing his arms and rolling his shoulders to relieve the strain they’d undergone. His eyes sought out 01’s, and when they met he bowed his head in submission. “Impressive,” he murmured to the General.

*

Ahmed’s Grocery and Delicatessen was a popular hangout for off-duty Alliance soldiers thanks to the flourishing illegal cannabis farm he kept in his basement. His drugs were pure, cheap to those who knew him and, more importantly, a secret kept within the ranks of a privileged few. Duo knew all about it, of course, since Ahmed was practically Quatre Winner’s lapdog, but he could not partake without giving away his knowledge to the observant Alliance privates and corporals that frequented the back room bar. He was, however, an expected and frequent visitor to Ahmed’s more wholesome above-ground facilities, thanks to his status as the monastery’s de facto errand and delivery boy. Since Romefeller’s political takeover and the Alliance’s steady increase in intimidation tactics, one of the monastery’s primary sources of income had become a greenhouse kept on the property, a section of which was devoted to growing garnishes to sell to the local restaurants. Ahmed’s regular orders allowed Duo and Trowa predictable and frequent opportunities to get close enough for them to relay messages back and forth.

Today, Duo was in a hurry because, after he finished his delivery rounds he was, as promised, on his way down to the port to try to make arrangements for Hilde’s departure. He could see through to the deli from the delivery entrance into the tiny kitchen, and noticed Trowa seated at the counter, presumably waiting to see him. An untouched sandwich sat in front of him and his hands were wrapped around a drink. He held it close to his chest as if afraid someone would tamper with it. Trowa always put Duo on edge, because he could never entirely tell what was behind the other boy’s blank stare, and for a minute he toyed with the idea of pretending he hadn’t seen him and walking away. But having missed their scheduled rendez-vous two days ago he felt obliged to go in and see what Trowa wanted. He pushed through the kitchen door and walked round the counter to order a couple of sandwiches to go. Trowa caught his eye when he entered and got up to go into the men’s room. Duo cringed internally, but followed a few moments later. Convenient; he had to take a piss anyway.

Trowa was the only other person in there. He handed Duo a folded slip of paper and said softly, “Major Po’s execution is scheduled for Saturday; it would be in your best interest to meet her before then. I’ve taken my spare uniform to be dry-cleaned.”

He brushed past and out the door. Duo unfolded the paper in his hand and memorized the good Major’s location before shredding the evidence and flushing it down the toilet.

“Yo, Maxwell!” Ahmed shouted when he came out of the bathroom. “You delivering to the poor today or something? What’s with all this food, man? Hey, you wanna come here when I’m talking to you?”

“And deal with your breath?” Duo shot back as he went over. “No thanks.”

“Hey, at least I wipe my ass when I’m done in the toilet. Big shit going down, huh?” Duo was close enough by that point that Ahmed nodded back over his shoulder. “Step into my office, huh? Let’s catch up.”

*

Bad news. Duo could hear the monastery bells pealing on his way up the hill and hurried his pace. A computer played bell chimes every hour and before church services, but this wild, irregular clanging only happened on momentous occasions…like when soldiers attacked and sanctuaries were violated.

He tried to slow the beat of his heart when he ran inside the gates and found the courtyard deserted. Probably everyone was inside the church. Duo slinked closer, just in case, until the rumble of voices from inside raised in song flooded him with relief and made his knees wobble. He didn’t feel up to going in and finding out what the meeting was about, wasn’t ready for more bad news, like Father Maxwell dropping stone dead from a heart attack or something like that. Instead he crept round the back, to hide himself away in the crypt until he felt up to dealing with people.

Unfortunately, he found the light on, and Quatre’s voice drifted up calling his name. “Yeah,” he grumbled in response and began stumping down the steps until Quatre’s fair head came bounding into view as he ran upstairs to meet him.

“You heard the news?” he demanded urgently, and at Duo’s blank look informed him, “General Septem is dead. Treize Khushrenada is now head of the Alliance.”

“What?!” Duo squawked, following Quatre back downstairs. “How the hell did that happen?!”

“He was shot,” Wufei explained, bluntly, barely glancing up from where he sat with a polishing rag, bent over a dismantled gun. “Probably by Khushrenada or one of his cronies, although he’s blamed it on us ‘rebels.’ They say they’ve got the perpetrator behind bars already.” An eloquent snort let them know what he thought of that idea. “Those twits upstairs are holding a memorial for him right now, still trying to show their allegiance and keep their noses clean.”

Reeling under the weight of the news Duo sagged to the floor without even bothering to spread his jacket over the cold flagstones. The sting of Wufei’s barb about the monastery barely even registered, although Quatre leveled a significant look at their friend on his behalf. Eventually the clink of metal brought him back to his senses and he took in the crate of illegal weaponry and munitions Quatre and Wufei were cleaning and cataloguing. “Special delivery?” he asked without really asking; the answer was obvious.

“I’ll be distributing it over the next few days,” Quatre acknowledged.

Wufei wordlessly tossed him a gun and a rag, indicating that he should start helping. Duo scowled -- the regular deliveries of firepower China and the United Middle Eastern Nations shipped to their only operatives inside Cinq was about the least they could do for the cause, he felt -- but the familiar motions of dismantling, polishing, and reassembling soothed him.

“So what did you find out today?” Quatre asked after a moment of silence had gone by.

“Nothing good,” Duo replied, a growl sitting low in his throat. “Howard says he ain’t smuggling anything as high risk as live cargo without some sort of extra incentive to make it worth his trouble -- and now Khushrenada’s in power here’s me thinking that price is gonna take a big jump.”

Quatre, however, looked thoughtful. “It might,” he replied, “or if we play our cards right it might just scare him enough to take her on. We should try approaching him again.”

“Yeah, well that ain’t all,” Duo cut in again, smothering a sigh at the expectant looks Quatre and Wufei leveled in his direction. “Seems Trowa’s had himself an encounter with the life size version of whatever this Hilde girl’s got cookin’ inside of her and it’s caused him to change his tune about whether we ought to go after this doctor Major who helped her out. He’s got me an in on Saturday.”

“Good,” Quatre replied, nodding his head thoughtfully. “She could be a valuable resource.”

“Not to mention dead if we don’t intervene,” Duo retorted, pointedly, causing an uncomfortable silence to descend between them. Wufei broke it by loading a charger of ammunition into the handgun he was holding and pointing it experimentally towards one of the stone saints standing in the corner.

“We’ve been operating underground for months now, practically impotent against the Alliance’s power,” he said. “It’s about time we became a threat to Khushrenada, rather than just a thorn in his side. I’m tired of hiding.”

*

Saturday morning. Sally blinked and when she opened her eyes the ceiling fan fourteen feet above her head had completed another rotation. She was dying today. Another blink, another lazy rotation past. Dust motes, caught in the sunlight coming through the bars on her window, swirled lazily above her head in the opposing drafts generated by the fan and her breath. _Savor the air while you can, Po._ Funny how it’s the little things that hold a girl’s attention when she’s gone thirty-six hours without sleep and is about to die.

A beep and the sound of a magnetic lock releasing roused Sally’s attention enough for her to turn her eyes toward her cell door. A corporal stood there: straight laced, clean shaven, and condescending. “Major Po, ma’am,” he rattled off as if reading from a script. His script, her death. Nothing personal. “Come with me…”

Sally swung one heavy booted foot off her cot, then the other. She sat up, cotton-headed and dizzy for a moment with the thought of her impending doom, and couldn’t resist the urge to tug against her handcuffs one last time. When they held firm, she stood up and followed the corporal out into the hall. The four other soldiers assigned to her firing squad fell into formation around her.

Thoughts of reckless last-minute escape attempts filled her head as she was marched outside, a process that simultaneously seemed to fly by and last forever. Every step seemed to thunder in her ears. The dull sheen of corporal’s copper buttons seemed to assault her eyes. Even the air prickled against her skin with an intensity she’d never noticed before. With each booming _tick_ of the second hand on her watch, Sally was able to evaluate hundreds of potential paths to freedom. But she didn’t take any of them, didn’t do anything except march forward, forward, forward, calmly towards her death. She did not feel fear, although this wasn’t how she had dreamed she would go. She didn’t feel anything except, oddly, the vague feeling that this, too, shall pass.

The General was there ( _evil man_ ) out in the yard waiting for them, come to watch her execution and make sure she really died, and took her secrets with her. But in Sally’s state of startling clarity, the sinister look she could normally distinguish in his eyes was no longer there. Instead he seemed to look on her with…was that remorse? No, it couldn’t be. It was ruthlessness disguised by crocodile tears. But Sally had seen it and it would not be unseen today.

The corporal ordered the other men to their posts and then began to lead her to the stake in the ground that marked where she should stand. A last surge of adrenaline began to flood her brain and she greedily began to gulp down her last few breaths of air.

“Halt!”

Sally froze. It was the General. She watched him approach through hooded lids, watched him stop and hold out a hand to the corporal, and watched him say, “Allow me to escort the prisoner. You may assume your position, Corporal Roth.”

“Yes, sir!” Roth barked and dropped the key to her handcuffs into the General’s outstretched hand. Sally watched her freedom fall through the air and disappear into Khushrenada’s palm. Then she watched Roth move away to take his place at the head of the firing squad.

“Come, Sally.”

She watched Khushrenada’s back as he resumed leading her towards the stake in the ground, to which she would be cuffed and killed. She imagined slime oozing out of Khushrenada’s back and dripping down his uniform, imagined that slime turned into blood, his blood, and his corpse letting out a painful wheezing moan and falling to the ground. Outrage pulsed through her veins, and through her head the mantra, _Monster -- monster -- monster_. This man was the one who should be in chains, not her.

They reached the post. Treize turned around and gestured for her hands. She held them up to him, but instead of immediately uncuffing her Treize gently placed his own soft, gloved hands over hers, stroking them and sending a peculiar shiver through Sally’s body. Marking her discomfort his fingers slid to hers. Clasping her right hand, he took it to his lips and kissed it, a gesture at once both ceremonious and filled with a horrible intimacy. “Sally Lynn Po,” he said, “I deeply regret that our partnership is unable to continue. You are a most extraordinary woman.” Having said so, he unlocked her right hand so she could slip her arms behind the metal post, and then locked her up again.

“Would you care for a blindfold?”

Sally’s lips quirked without humor, and she hesitated a moment with her answer. But staring down the field at her firing squad she decided, “No.” She could face her death straight on. She could at least do that.

“How about a cigarette?”

She almost laughed out loud at that. Hundreds of years followed by a century-long ban of capital punishment and still that silly tradition persisted. A lecture about the dangers of the little cancer sticks and visions of yellowed, decaying teeth sprang unbidden into her head, but here at her execution of all places surely she could live a little. “Sure,” she answered wryly and experienced another jolt of strangeness when Treize pulled out his own personal cigarette case from an inside pocket of his uniform. He placed the cigarette between her lips himself and lit it with an ornate lighter.

“Have you any other requests?”

_Only for you to rot in hell_ , Sally wanted to tell him, but aloud she forced herself to look into Treize’s crocodile eyes and sincerely plead, “Let them go.”

The General ran a gloved thumb along her cheekbone, but when she flinched away dropped his hand down to her shoulder, which he gave a firm squeeze. “Miss Po,” he said, at last stripping her of all rank, including her M.D., “I assure you, they are exactly where they ought to be.” Then he stepped away and began walking back to his observatory post and Sally’s eyes slid forward again, back to the polished buttons on the Corporal’s jacket.

A mosquito breezed past her face and began to whine around her ear.

Ahead of her Treize nodded to the corporal to begin.

“Ready!” Roth shouted at the squad.

Wait. That buzz was more than just an insect in her ear…

An explosion on the other side of the base sent orange flames shooting up into the sky. Treize surged to his feet and the firing squad spun around to stare. The General and the corporal locked eyes. “Continue this,” Treize said and strode away without casting another look in Sally’s direction.

After a dazed moment for the firing squad to recover themselves the corporal repeated the command for the men to ready their weapons. And then a grenade landed at the corporal’s feet and exploded. Heat and debris struck Sally in the face and sent her head smacking back into the post behind her.

When she came to seconds later, someone was yanking on her arm and trying to haul her to her feet. Blinking to clear her head, a young man’s face swam into view, heavily lined with tension but carrying a grin. “Not bad for homemade, huh?” he said to her, jerking a thumb over his shoulder to gesture at the rubble all around them. “I challenge any Home Ec student to do better.”

Head still ringing, mouth agape, and marveling at her free hands, Sally let herself be pulled upright. Now, she knew, was not the time for questions, only for escape.

“What’s the plan?” was the only thing she asked, and she did so even as she ran over to the pile of bodies that used to be her firing squad and stripped them of the least ruined pieces of their uniforms. Burnt and bloodied as they were, they were better than walking around in prisoners’ garb.

“Run, mostly,” her rescuer answered. “I’ve got one more of these babies to deal with any trouble on my way out.”

Sally ignored the old fashioned and conspicuous rifles in favor of the corporal’s holstered handgun. “After finishing here they would have carted my body over to the service exit. There’ll be a truck waiting there that we can steal and use to get off the base.”

The execution yard doubled as the inmates’ exercise field, and as such the only exit was back through the prison building itself. Of course, it was locked now and with high security protocol kicking in after the breach all locks required voice identification. Sally refused to waste their security by blasting open the door. She spun back around to the boy. “How did you -”

“Up,” he interrupted, pointing.

Of course. The roof. Only a single storey of the prison was above ground, as most of the cells were subterranean; it was an easy jump off the roof. But how were they to get back up? Soldiers would arrive any minute to investigate.

To her amazement, her young rescuer was one step ahead of her yet again. He’d already begun shimmying up the groove where the prison wall met the perimeter fence, the thickly insulated soles of his boots protecting him from the low-voltage electricity flowing through the metal.

“Son of a bitch,” Sally swore as she hurried to catch up.


End file.
